THE TURQUOISE PEN

WHAT THEY DON'T TELL YOU ABOUT MEDITATING

Noël R. King

Jack, I think his name was, joined our meditation class at the beginning of last spring, just when all the flowers were starting to bloom in our yards.

He seemed a pleasant enough fellow—but very taken with his thoughts, perhaps. Before our meditation sessions began most weeks, down in our Zen teacher’s basement, he would ask countless questions about his thoughts and what to do with them in this or that or other situations of the mind.

Our Zen teacher always patiently, soothingly answered all of Jack’s questions, assuring him there was no wrong way to be with one’s thoughts during a meditation hour; that one simply allowed whatever arose in the mind to briefly appear and then pass on through.

"Okay," Jack said this last time, just before we closed our eyes, "so what do I do again if all my thoughts go ‘Poof!’?"

"So excellent!" the master beamed. "So wonderful!"

Incense wafted, cushions held us firm, my thoughts went by like clouds.

When the gong sounded sixty minutes later, I opened my eyes and saw that Jack was nowhere to be found. His cushion held a dent and nothing more.

That’s what they don’t tell you about this meditating business when you start; then, when you finally catch on, baby, it’s way too late. Your thoughts—and sometimes far, far more—are gone, gone, gone.

—As circumstances warrant, through her Turquoise Pen column Noël R. King, Scottsville, Virginia, reports on strange and wonderful things, including the risk of going poof.