WWOOF Italy: Meditation with the Retreat Center

16 March 2011

I've been sitting with the members of Brahma Kumaris for an half hour evening meditation most nights since I've arrived. Raja yoga meditation means open-eye, sitting in a chair meditation. We look like a bunch of people mesmerized by a tv, but there is no tv. Only a big framed picture of the founder of Brahma Kumaris on an easel next to an empty padded chair on a platform, some candles, and a giant, back-lit psychedelic tilted red square above them both. Basically, a shrine. We are suppose to think in the present (we spent most of our lives thinking either of the past or the future with almost no focus on the present) in terms of ourselves and the wider world. This is not blank-minded meditation; there are directed thoughts and a specific god we are to believe in. There is a clear religious structure in Brahma Kumaris with a hierarchy, a god who sends down his opinions, and in the meditation we are suppose to think about the entire world and send good wishes.

Every hour, on the hour, in this house there are speakers all over that play one minute of music. 'Traffic Control', they call it; it's a one minute meditation where we stop everything we're doing to be reminded to be in the present. The evening meditation begins and ends with this music. I can't keep my mind on track for the two one-minute music interludes (which, in theory, should help lull me into a mental state of quietness). There is no hope for the other twenty-nine minutes. I try to think about all the things Regina taught me in my introductory lesson--my soul, its detachment from my physical self--but then I get cynical and the Darwin in me starts arguing all of that soul nonsense. I realize I've lost track, so I try to bring my focus inward to my body. I'm not sure if I'm suppose to be doing this as we're detaching from our physical selves, but as I said, I'm an amateur. It works in hatha yoga classes, and that's enough for me. So I imagine circling up every inch of my body, slowly circling my foot, through my heal, up through my leg, etc. (classic for all of you who have been in a hatha yoga class or two) until I reach the top of my head, and I stay on track! But as soon as I'm back to being with my mental self, it's over. My mind starts wandering to my many options for this summer, places I'll live, whether I'll be living in my storage unit...no!

Focus. Then the itches start coming. Right under my nose, the left nostril. Deep breaths. I scrunch face into silly shapes thinking that this will somehow magically do the trick. No cigar. I'm stronger than you, itch. Then it's my right ear AND my left nostril. Then it's my right elbow, my right ear, AND my left nostril. Christ! Are there bugs all over me? Detach from your bodily self, Alex. Your soul does not feel itches (unfortunately, this thought has minimal effect when you don't believe in souls).

How can I nonchalantly slip that gorgeous man who's been working here my phone number? I had it all ready on a little piece of paper, but when he left both of his jacket zippers were closed. Why does he have to be so shy? My time on this farm is finite!

Bah! Present, Alex! Remember what Regina told you. We have an intellect that can tell our brains which thoughts to hold on to and which ones are non appropriate for the time. This one is not appropriate for now. Present. Come up with a happy thought. A present, happy thought, whatever that means.

What the hell am I suppose to think about, then? The fact that I'm sitting silent in a room with a shrine in front of me? This thought for half an hour? The soul thing is out, so I'll think about the gloriousness of my body's complex systems and how they coevolved through symbiosis to the complex organism they are today. So complex, in fact, that I have this 'conscious', whatever the hell that is, that causes people like us to do things like this: sit in front of a framed Indian man and a red box like entranced zombies.

Cabbage! (In Italian, “Cavolo!”, literally “cabbage”, is used like “darn it!”) I'm back to thinking about my worldly body.

My worldly body—I remember last week when the retreat owner Piero asked us what our bodies are like in heaven. Do we have arm hair? How does he manage to turn every conversation into something spiritual? I appreciate that he is passionate about what he does. That I am. So appreciative, in fact, that I smile in what could be perceived as agreement with other people, rather than * changing the subject to what interests me more: how cool it is that our decomposing bodies when we die feed the worms who in turn feed the soil who in turn feeds plants who in turn feed small animals who in turn feed larger animals who in turn will one day feed people who die and feed the worms...but I don't think that this would be welcome at the moment. Well, our decomposing bodies should feed the soil, but instead we build stupid boxes to remove ourselves from the glory of Mother Nature's cycles...

Yes! the music! my thirty minutes are over! One last minute of music. Poor job focusing, this evening, Alex: let's make this last minute count.

Present, inner self, present, inner self...what is that sideways square called? It's not a diamond--diamonds don't have right angles. A rhombus? I don't think they have right angles, either. Is the light around it glowing red because the light coming through the tilted square itself is red? I don't think so. I think it's just a red square and white light. The music's over!!!

Yes. Done. Done poorly, but done. This last part just urks me. Everyone sits for an unspecific amount of time after the music ends. One minute, five minutes, but no one stands up right away. I think we should all jump up the moment the music ends and high five one another for having gotten through one more evening.
I’m sure that they have lost their focus, too: they are all thinking, “who will be the first person to get up? Because I have to wait at least forty seconds after them, to not be the first, but also not seem like I was waiting for someone else or affected by their choice. Raindrops keep falling on my head...”

Forget it. I stand up and peace.



* As I was writing this blog post: Cabbage! The one-minute traffic Control! I just can't get away from it!

** I tried to recreate my stream of conscious thoughts throughout these thirty minutes as best I could. I apologize for the confusion of it. But rest assured, I present to you thoughts much more trimmed around the edged than they existed in my head.