I think I have more black outs than the average person – not faintings, but moments where I forget myself. I am always in the process of remembering something that feels long forgotten: oh, I have a blog. Oh, I’m a writer. Oh, I am in the middle of talking to somebody. I wake up every morning waiting for some kind of list to fall over my memory: this is what I am doing today; this is who I am going to be.
I’ve started sitting on a block for five minutes every morning, fulfilling a New Year’s Resolution to meditate. For most of the five minute I think about things. This isn’t meditating. Meditating, yoga people keep telling me, is about acknowledging and then calming down my thinking. It’s about acknowledging that I have thoughts and then dismissing them. At first I thought this was ridiculous: I am my thoughts! Then I was told explicity: you are not your thoughts. It’s taken me a long time to come to grips with that.
It’s taken me a long time to come to grips with that because sitting on a block and thinking for five minutes every morning is actually useful. I am able to decide things, like today I will be nice. Today I will move with control. Today I will speak what I mean. Today I will have confidence. Today I will breathe.
Then there are some mornings where I stop thinking. I sit there and I’m not sleeping but I’m smiling, and I’m looking up at something that’s either the sun or the rainclouds through my window, and I am not worried that I was either a victim or a perpretator in three different dreams about shooting the night before, and I’m not worried about how I have to go to the bank, and I’m not counting down seconds until Reema Datta stops singing.
I’m just sitting there and I’m taking four seconds worth of breath in and four seconds worth of breath out and I’m completely aware of who I am and what I’m doing that day because I’m just me and I’m just going to be here.