Learning Curve

So I originally started this blog with the idea of a conversation. I would offer my musings out there and hopefully get a response. Apparently the commenting function here, however, was not so welcoming. Well, for those of you who tried to comment and found blogger less than totally hospitable, I've tinkered with the commenting function. I would appreciate it if you would give it another try and let me know the results. If the comment function is still being ornery, you can email me at misslapin@gmail.com to give me a heads up.

Obviously as much as I would love this blog to have emerged from my head fully realized like Athena from the head of Zeus, the reality is I am little closer to Bambi on ice on figuring out how to get everything together. The background, for example. I customized it and got everything just the way I like it and then blogger, overnight, decided to forget the whole thing. So you'll have to be patient as this little blog hopefully grows and develops and takes shape.

Members Only

So today I joined a meditation center. This is the first time I have voluntarily join a spiritual community. I've been an atheist for over a decade, but one of things I always envied about those with religion was the community that usually comes with it. Of course as community goes, this is all about a bunch of people sitting together in silence journeying inwards so it's not exactly like we're going to have a big fourth of july picnic. Still, it feels like a big deal even though I don't know exactly what to say about it or how to explain it.

The center is beautiful. Calm, tranquil, cool, quiet and most importantly less than a block from my therapist because seriously who doesn't need some calm meditation after therapy? (I actually love my therapist who is sweet and bubbly and we totally bond over game of thrones.  Still I do talk about things with her that definitely benefit from a spiritual balm afterwards.) I noticed the center two weeks ago because they had a pamphlet out front for jazz meditation, and I am over that! I decided that I would go to one of their open sittings before I joined. I had never actually really meditated with other people before except in yoga classes or a brief five minute thing in some other classes. The rest has all been in the comfort of my own apartment, which is, of course, very nice even when a cat goes flying under my nose half way through. But I thought like I should have an outside practice. A place other than my home that was just for this.

A part of me thought I should join because that's what you do, right? You're suppose to join a church or a synagogue or a meditation center. I realized after I joined that I had done it because in my head it was some sort of stone on some unarticulated obligatory path. I do that a lot. Imagine obligations. In this case, part of the imagined obligation was searching for some sort of pre-fab path. Being spiritual like this is difficult because there is no one path and this can be very anxiety provoking.  While I like the "start where you are" attitude of Pema Chodron, there are times when I want some sort of central authority. Some key book, an authority, a set of steps that I am supposed to take so I can measure how well I am doing, so I can not think about it and just go on autopilot to progress rather than root around in the muck to find the answer.

 Of course, one of my big issues with religion is central authority. I rebel against it and want to go my own way. When I was listening to Pema Chodron last week talking about how important it is to have a n intention when meditating, I rebelled. I didn't WANT to have an intention. I didn't want there to be a "right way" to meditate. I recoiled from her suggestion with disdain. But then later I thought about it as I was honestly surprised by how emotionally response to this idea. And yet when my meditation teacher suggested to me that I have the answers I rebelled against this as well sarcastically thinking, "If I have the answers, we're all in a lot of trouble." Spiritually, I'm like a cat standing in a half open door pondering both the warm cozy kitchen and the cool field outside with equal attraction and disdain.

But while I joined because I thought I should, I will stay because I think it is the right thing for me to do at this point on my journey.

I enjoyed the sitting. The leader balanced silence and guidance nicely with a body scan at the end, I suspect because I mentioned yoga nidra. I was the only one there. A nice solo flight as he called it. As As the meditation leader, Qelvi (pronounced like Kel-vee), opened the meditation room afterwards he told me "I can definitely feel the difference in the room from your energy." I can only hope my face didn't betray my mind because instantly my inner skeptic stood guard. "Easy there, nut cake" it said, "let's not get crazy." I immediately thought he was placating me to get money for a membership  rather than thinking maybe he was being genuine or just being kind or, like at me, was at a loss of what to say to me as I was still in a pretty non-verbal mode. I told my inner skeptic to piss off and let me enjoy my lovely moment of calm and it evaporated back to the murky depths of my subconscious. Afterwards, I sat in the light atrium and enjoyed herbal tea while leafing through Embracing Mind from their library before going into the oppressively hot day.

After, I went to the desk to pay for my membership. I stood there long after the transaction went though because I thought I should get a key fob or a card or some sort of indication I was a member, like at the gym. A card carrying meditator. The woman saw me standing there and said "The transaction went through, I sent the receipt to your email, you can sit again if you like." I smiled at her and said "Oh no, I was waiting to sign the receipt" before gathering my bag. As I left an older woman was waiting to go into the next sitting, she was chatting to the meditation guide about something serious involving a friend. He listened with kindness offering insight. Maybe it was pretended kindness, but I realized it didn't actually matter if kindness is what she took from it.

There Be Monsters Here

As much as I thought about starting this blog, I didn't think about how to begin it. In my mind, the posts came to me, but without a beginning so you'll have to, hopefully, bumble along with me as I try to welcome you so if you were hoping for a beautifully mapped path with a clear end point, not so much. As they wrote once on old maps, "There be monsters here."

In February I had a very serious health issue. To some degree, that's nothing new for me. I almost died of cancer at 6 months old and since then I've been both disabled and suffered from chronic health problems. Still, the recovery from this one is still ongoing. In fact, even today I'm struggling with it, and last Thursday I had a set back that was severe enough to almost land me in the hospital.

What made February different is that part of my treatment involved iRest to help me cope with my PTSD. (I have PTSD from my previous medical traumas which made being in the hospital particularly difficult.) I found the experience transformative. I began visiting with the practitioner every week and continued to practice once released. From there I began investigating other guided meditations and reading books like Pema Chodron's "When Things Fall Apart."

And so now here I am, meditating every day, reading, learning, growing, but also wanting to write about it to invite other people into my experience and hear what they have to say.

The title of this blog gives you a sense of humor. I was raised a jew and so the title indicates a little bit of the tension I feel with this exploration. It's about my fear that exploring and growing spiritually means giving up my sense of humor, which is something I really enjoy (And I hope that other people enjoy as well.). I catch myself now making a joke and then thinking "I really shouldn't think that. This person is in pain and I'm not helping them by doing this." Of course, there's a tiny a little voice that squeaks out after "But it IS funny" as if that's an excuse or makes it ok. So you see the title represents part of what I am dealing with here as I explore.

So here I am. And here you are. And you probably still don't know what this is all about.

Neither do I .

Years ago when the earth was young and no one had smartphones, I was in college. I had a teacher,
Travis. Dear god, did I hate Travis. The first time I met Travis....well let me set the scene for you: It was the first day of sophomore year at 8:30 in the morning. We were all hunched in our seats communing with our giant cups of coffee (red bull had yet to be invented) and Travis walked in and gave us a welcoming look worthy of Klaus Kinski. He wore, and always wore from that day forward, a black turtleneck and pants with black shoes. His blonde hair was in a buzz cut. Everything was streamlined with only his blue eyes as relief. He looked us over silently and then he spoke with calm precision. "I am going to fuck each and every one of you in the heart."

That was Travis.

And yet, as brutal as Travis was, and he was ruthlessly brutal, he taught me more about being an artist than almost anyone else in college. That line "Be grateful to everyone," I learned that starting with Travis the people who teach you the most aren't always the best people or the most likable people. In Travis's case I consider him barely a person, and yet....there is it.

Travis taught me that in order to succeed as an artist you have to dare to fail, and fail hard. That if you weren't in the place where you could land on your face in a broken bloody mess, you were making the "safe art" the kind that gets hung in hotel rooms or selected because it matches the couch. To be an artist is a terrifying thing.

And so, here I am inviting you to watch me fall.