I stand outside on my deck in mountain pose. The day is gray and misty. Beneath my feet the wood is sturdy and moist with last night’s rain. Across the lake the clouds have settled on the eastern shore. The mist touches my face, cool and soothing. The delicate fragrance of the potted marigolds fades into the pungent, rich scent of earth. In the foreground a sparrow is chirping. In the distance a crow squawks and its cry is answered by others. A dog barks. I pick up my mug of green tea and savor it’s sweet, toasted warmth.
For over a year I have been studying meditation as a method to ease my chronic anxiety and to explore spiritual practices. I’ve tried breath meditation, body scans, mantra reciting, and balancing my chakras. I’ve listened to countless guided meditations visualizing light filling my heart and expanding out to the universe. I’ve chanted Sanskrit words whose meanings are vague and mysterious. I have visited goddesses wearing flowing robes in enchanted forests who come bearing gifts. And though I find temporary relief from the anxiety it does not take too long before my mind spins out into worry about that damned saber-toothed tiger from thousands of years ago that has morphed into worries about getting fired for missing a deadline or getting an incurable illness or into a car accident or financial ruin. “Our brains are wired this way,” my therapist says, “in prehistoric time we could have died.” So, I thank my mind for protecting me and try to remind her that the saber-toothed tiger no longer exists, that my job is secure, my health fine, my car safe and finances are stable.
I grow weary and despondent that with 300 consecutive days of meditating my ADD, anxious mind still goes off into all kinds of crazy directions instead to focusing on the breath or the mantra or even to what the goddess is saying. What did she just say? Hmm. My neck is cold. I should buy some turtlenecks for this winter. Did the goddess just hand me a turtleneck? This is what the mind does the teachers say. Just notice the thought and go back to the breath. Let thoughts drift away like clouds. It’s a practice, they say. Yeah, I think, a practice that never becomes a skill.
I attend a lecture by a Buddhist monk who talks about engaging the five senses as way to ground in the present moment. The five senses are the way we experience the world and the portal to the divine source. This makes sense to me, for I am most at peace when I’m hiking in the forest or walking along the shore.
Now most mornings I start my day by standing outside on my deck strong, grounded, and grateful, allowing my senses to envelop me, feeling the peace of connection with the divine and knowing whenever the saber-toothed tiger gets close, I can just step outside and engage the sacred energy of this world, of myself, to protect me. And for those few moments my anxiety fades into the background while the sparrows sing, the crows squawk, the dog barks and I breathe.
2 Black Dogs 