Recently, I started working full-time in an office environment, after 12 years of being in Academia. It’s taking my body some time to adjust to the longer hours – the early morning, 45 minute commute, the long stretches of time sitting in front of a screen, and the exhausting return home during rush hour when I’m lucky if I can find a spot in the tube to stand, shoulder-to-shoulder with other weary passengers, who can’t wait to get home, plop onto their sofas and watch Netflix in a state of zombie-like zen (for those of us with kids to put to bed, this end-of-day ecstasy doesn’t come for another couple hours).
During my time on the tube, I’ve tried listening to music and reading books (yes, even standing up, with one hand clasped around a pole for dear life, and the other expertly holding the book and turning its pages with a flick of my thumb). As a person who’s recently stumbled onto, for lack of a better word, “meditation”, not by reading about it or watching YouTube videos, but quite accidentally and on my own, I decided one day to attempt it while crammed into the tube like a suffocating sardine.
Up until this point, I had only meditated while lying down. It was just simpler to tell people I wanted to lie down and take a nap, than to say, “I’m going to go focus on releasing my negative energy and replacing it with something much lighter.” That day on the tube, with nothing to do and nowhere to go, not wanting to whip out my phone and stare at it like everyone else was doing, I closed my eyes and began my process. At first, I felt a bit awkward. I mean, what would people think? It’s one thing to close your eyes and nod off while sitting, but to do it while standing? They would think I had the uncanny ability to sleep stand.
After a while, when I
realized that nobody really cared enough to focus on what I was doing, I closed
my eyes again and returned to my meditation. I took a deep breath in and keenly
focused my concentration onto the topmost part of my head. As I breathed out, I
felt an inner layer of soul skin slowly rolling down from my head to my toes, and
an immediate sense of relief from letting it go. Another breath, in and out,
focusing this time on my eyes – not exactly my eyes, rather the muscles around
my eyes – and I felt the muscles relax, as another layer of consciousness
unspooled within me.
With each breath, and each
concentrated intention to release the stress from each part of my body, I
peeled off all the layers of soul skin, until there was nothing left but raw,
pulsating energy circulating within me. My physical skin tingled from its touch.
The more I concentrated on it, the more the energy grew. It kept expanding,
like a rising balloon, until it was ready to depart my nuisance of a body, with
all its limitations, its aches and pains. This pure energy, that was really and
truly me, rose up into the air and flew through the clouds, leaving behind the
preoccupied people of the world, until they appeared as mere ants in
procession, and later, as tiny dots scattered on the globe, and ultimately,
were nowhere to be seen.
This being of energy wanted to go somewhere where it could grow, where it could combine with other beings into one enormous entity. This being felt like it could soar. This being felt like bliss.
As I experienced this energy-induced “high”, for a moment I didn’t feel like just another drained commuter going home, on a day that too closely resembled previous days, feeling like nothing she was doing really mattered in life. My spirit drifted, weightless and unburdened.
In an instant, the vehicle
where I had left my physical body behind, came lurching to a violent stop. The
energy magically returned to its original human packaging. My eyes opened to
register my surroundings. I disembarked at my destination and joined the
throngs of other worker bees headed home. But I had a little extra pep in my
step. A renewed energy to get me through dinner, my son’s bedtime routine, and my
own personal rituals for winding down.
Also, I was reminded that there was a blessing in just my being. I don’t necessarily need to do something outstanding to win the accolades or admiration of my peers, and feel worthy of being in this world. I just need to be, and that is all. There is something sacred inside of me, and I need only close my eyes, breathe deeply, and shut my mind, to access it. Perhaps if I made the effort to meditate more often, I’d be able to shine some of that magic into the outer world, too.