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Posted: January 30th, 2007 at 1:36am By: Janet Conner
I've tried to meditate. I really have. I've read the books and listened to the lectures. I've smiled as friends extolled the joys of a tranquil mind. I've skewered myself into weird positions as the yoga instructor encouraged us to go inside. I've tried guided meditation, silent meditation, religious meditation, chakra mediation. I've practiced with mantras, sounds, chimes, colors and breath. Whatever you can think of, I've probably tried it.
I've sat. Very still. Back straight. Eyes closed. Focused on my breath. Belly in. Belly out. (I was always pretty good at that part.) I've waited for my mind to clear. But clearing never quite happened. Those riggedy-raggedy thoughts were always there, prodding and poking. "Acknowledge them," the instructor invariably would say in a warm, liquid voice, "and let them go by."
Go by? Go bye? Trust me, these thoughts aren't going anywhere. They've got work to do. They're busy reminding me that I have things to do, places to go, people to check up on, problems to fix, prayers to say, and worries to worry. Just in case I might forget, they remind me that there isn't enough money, the roof is leaking, the car is coughing, and the kid is crying. Go by? I don't think so.
One teacher was particularly creative. When another neophyte in the class complained that his thoughts wouldn't stop chattering, she suggested we visualize a train pulling into the station of our mind to pick up our scattered thoughts and carry them away. Well, my train pulled in, all right, and a few dozen thoughts pushed and shoved their way on board, but as the train pulled out of the station they realized what was happening and went berserk. They scratched at the windows, leaned out and screamed back at me, waving frantically. Some leaped onto the tracks. The survivors raced back to me. Great, I thought, now I'm a murderer. At the end of the class, I smiled wanly, gave the teacher a weak hug and headed home with all my fears back in their full upright starting positions.
Eventually I gave up. But that doesn't mean I stopped meditating. I meditate. I meditate every day. At 9 a.m. Sitting in my chair. Eyes open. Hand poised. Ready to have an intimate connection with God.
I see now that it was a blessing that I couldn't learn to meditate the traditional way. In the midst of a treacherous divorce, my mind and heart were full to overflowing with worries and fears. I had to do something, but clearly meditation wasn't it.
I take no credit for discovering written meditation. I stumbled upon it. I simply picked up a pen out of sheer desperation and wrote, "Dear God," at the top of the page and began to write. Immediately all my fear thoughts lined up to be heard. They jumped through my pen and onto the page where I could see them, and where God could show me how to heal them. I told my story and asked for guidance. And guidance came. Every day.
I can't say that one session or 10 sessions or even six months of Dear God writing sessions healed me. But it did set me down the road to a new and much healthier and happier life. It did create a powerful bond between me and my Creator. It did prove to me that I am safe and loved, always and forever.
I haven't decided quite what to call this spiritual practice of writing. It's meditation, but it's written. It's journaling, but it's so much more. It's a conversation with God, but it's silent. It's an intimate, personal connection with Spirit that can't be explained or even really shared. It's time with your best friend and the world's greatest psychotherapist, all wound together into one. It's prayer, but these prayers can't be found in any prayer book.
So what is it? Even I, who write with God every day, am not completely certain.
I invite you to simply try it. You needn't clear your mind. Quite the opposite. Call up your woes and lay them at God's feet. God will know exactly what to do with them. Just pick up a pen and write, "Dear God ... "
Next week: Proof that writing heals
— — —
Janet Conner, S.E. (Spiritual Explorer), is the author of the Spiritual Geography series and is currently writing Dear God: The Conversation That Changes Everything. The Spiritual Geography books are available through Amazon or Spiritual Geography. Reach Janet at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}.© copyright 2007 by Janet Conner
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I've tried to meditate. I really have. I've read the books and listened to the lectures. I've smiled as friends extolled the joys of a tranquil mind. I've skewered myself into weird positions as the yoga instructor encouraged us to go inside. I've tried guided meditation, silent meditation, religious meditation, chakra mediation. I've practiced with mantras, sounds, chimes, colors and breath. Whatever you can think of, I've probably tried it.
I've sat. Very still. Back straight. Eyes closed. Focused on my breath. Belly in. Belly out. (I was always pretty good at that part.) I've waited for my mind to clear. But clearing never quite happened. Those riggedy-raggedy thoughts were always there, prodding and poking. "Acknowledge them," the instructor invariably would say in a warm, liquid voice, "and let them go by."
Go by? Go bye? Trust me, these thoughts aren't going anywhere. They've got work to do. They're busy reminding me that I have things to do, places to go, people to check up on, problems to fix, prayers to say, and worries to worry. Just in case I might forget, they remind me that there isn't enough money, the roof is leaking, the car is coughing, and the kid is crying. Go by? I don't think so.
One teacher was particularly creative. When another neophyte in the class complained that his thoughts wouldn't stop chattering, she suggested we visualize a train pulling into the station of our mind to pick up our scattered thoughts and carry them away. Well, my train pulled in, all right, and a few dozen thoughts pushed and shoved their way on board, but as the train pulled out of the station they realized what was happening and went berserk. They scratched at the windows, leaned out and screamed back at me, waving frantically. Some leaped onto the tracks. The survivors raced back to me. Great, I thought, now I'm a murderer. At the end of the class, I smiled wanly, gave the teacher a weak hug and headed home with all my fears back in their full upright starting positions.
Eventually I gave up. But that doesn't mean I stopped meditating. I meditate. I meditate every day. At 9 a.m. Sitting in my chair. Eyes open. Hand poised. Ready to have an intimate connection with God.
I see now that it was a blessing that I couldn't learn to meditate the traditional way. In the midst of a treacherous divorce, my mind and heart were full to overflowing with worries and fears. I had to do something, but clearly meditation wasn't it.
I take no credit for discovering written meditation. I stumbled upon it. I simply picked up a pen out of sheer desperation and wrote, "Dear God," at the top of the page and began to write. Immediately all my fear thoughts lined up to be heard. They jumped through my pen and onto the page where I could see them, and where God could show me how to heal them. I told my story and asked for guidance. And guidance came. Every day.
I can't say that one session or 10 sessions or even six months of Dear God writing sessions healed me. But it did set me down the road to a new and much healthier and happier life. It did create a powerful bond between me and my Creator. It did prove to me that I am safe and loved, always and forever.
I haven't decided quite what to call this spiritual practice of writing. It's meditation, but it's written. It's journaling, but it's so much more. It's a conversation with God, but it's silent. It's an intimate, personal connection with Spirit that can't be explained or even really shared. It's time with your best friend and the world's greatest psychotherapist, all wound together into one. It's prayer, but these prayers can't be found in any prayer book.
So what is it? Even I, who write with God every day, am not completely certain.
I invite you to simply try it. You needn't clear your mind. Quite the opposite. Call up your woes and lay them at God's feet. God will know exactly what to do with them. Just pick up a pen and write, "Dear God ... "
Next week: Proof that writing heals
— — —
Janet Conner, S.E. (Spiritual Explorer), is the author of the Spiritual Geography series and is currently writing Dear God: The Conversation That Changes Everything. The Spiritual Geography books are available through Amazon or Spiritual Geography. Reach Janet at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}.© copyright 2007 by Janet Conner
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