Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Eight-Minute Meds

I tried meditating the other night. Lasted eight minutes, which was longer than I thought, so that was special. Maybe I’ll invent a new workout called “8 Minute Meds.” Meds being the abbreviation for meditations. Like “8 Minute Ab . . . ” Abdominals? What’s the “s” for in “Abs”? Abdomens? Well that’s awkward. “8 Minute Meds” will do way better. And I’ll spell it out and hyphenate it like it’s supposed to be “Eight-Minute Meds.” Yeah. I’ll have an infomercial of me and two people sitting on pillows behind me and we’ll just sit quietly for eight minutes. $59.95.

I was pretty focused during my maiden Eight-Minute Meds routine, people. At first, I tried concentrating on my breathing as a center but two problems immediately arose: One, I thought I was going to have a stroke from turning an involuntary action into something forced and unnaturally measured, and two, I kept forgetting that I was supposed to be focusing on not laboring for breath so I gave up and found myself walking on the grassy hills of my thoughts. It was quite relaxing. I was even wearing my old hiking boots. Sigh. I miss them. How primordial is a first person perspective of feet walking through wind swept grass? I think I’ve tapped into prehistoric memory, here. Maybe next time I’ll watch my hands climb an endless tree. In any case, I achieved enlightenment half way through the seventh minute so I think I’m good until my next incarnation but just to be sure, who’s got the tricks on meditation? What do I need to do to levitate and breathe fire or was Dhalsim full of shit? Guide me and I’ll love you until you die from it.


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Meditation-related Addendum

At work, I discovered a young coworker sitting quietly on the hard floor. His legs were crossed and the backs of his wrists were resting on his knees. He was perfectly still, eyes downturned and back straight as an arrow. I was impressed by his tranquility but before I could ask (Yes, I was going to interrupt his serenity with my idiot “Are you meditating” question), I noticed his right hand held an upturned iPhone and his thumb moved almost imperceptibly over its face. I burst out laughing and he looked up and stretched a toothy grin. “I’m paying my bills,” he said. Of course. No grassy memories here.

*Artwork ripped-off from this website.
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