One night, after a long draining day at work, I put on a face mask for my skin before sleep. I did not know what to do while waiting. I’m done with scrolling through social media. Done with words and texts and even reading. (Background: my writing projects revolve around social media)
All I wanted was the comfort of nothingness.
Thoughtless state of mind.
And so darkness, it comforts. Darkness has always been comforting to me. Running in the park at 11pm. Sitting beneath the moon at midnight.
Closing my eyes, I found my mind silencing. It’s not exactly all quiet, but at least thoughts were hesitant to rise. I can sense the rising of thoughts. Questions and groundless mental commentaries — they sudden realised they’re white elephants.
I fell gently into meditation.
I didn’t mean to. I just sat there on the living room floor, eyes closed. My heart slowed, and I noticed my lower back ached. I sat a bit taller, then crossed my legs to straighten my aching spine.
Meditation was not in the agenda that evening. But meditation came upon me, like a warm comforting palm on the back of the body.
It’s been awhile since I kept up with the practice of daily meditation. When I first turned to meditation, it was because I had to take a YTT course. It was part of the syllabus. When I committed, it came naturally. When I stopped, my excuse was about inconvenience and space (backpackers and hostels for five months). When I tried to return again, it felt like instilled discipline, which shouldn’t be the case.
I had thought that I will find meditation again when I needed healing. But meditation finds me first unexpectedly. As I sat, these words took shape loosely like sandcastles in the wind.
“All things I do are transient. All things I do have meaning.”
SHENAYOGA 