Spirituality

My first meditation course

I attended about four Art of Silence Courses in the first year I joined the Art of Living Foundation. I  dreaded each one, yet I kept signing up because it was clear at the end of every course, something profoundly good was happening within me.

My first silent meditation course was particularly difficult. It was in the mountains of Woodland Park, Colorado. I was surrounded by the majestic Rocky Mountains with a clear view of Pikes Peak. It seemed like a peaceful setting, but I was squirming with restlessness from the start. After the first day, there was no talking, no tv, radio, reading and we were only supposed to pass notes to the teacher if it was urgent.

The course organizers provided light vegetarian food - super- lite to be exact. I'd heard about the menu in advance, and had sneaked in bagels, cookies and chocolate, which I shared with my fellow course participants. I was an instant friend to all, or so it seemed. I quickly realized that this kind of food brought about sleep, not meditation.

Every evening, I was awake for hours, alone in the silence of my cabin. The only sound was the ticking of a clock and the crackling of the fire in the wood stove. This is when I made all kinds of plans to escape the course.

Somehow, when the sun was rising, my plans moved to the back of my mind and I managed to show for morning yoga. At the end of it, I was always glad I'd made the effort.

One afternoon, a fellow seeker on the course, sent me a note. Like me, Hope was also a corporate executive, with a demanding job and a busy life. She wrote that she jealous out how deep I was meditating. The third day she slipped me another note, letting me know she was no longer jealous. She had realized I wasn't in deep meditation every afternoon - I was asleep!

Every evening after dinner, we had something called, Satsang, which means, "in the company of truth." During this time everyone sang and played instruments. The songs were called, Bhajans, which are songs in Sanskrit in praise of the Divine. I wasn't very comfortable with Satsang. It reminded me of the Christian youth events I'd attended, sitting around the fire singing. I wasn't into the dogma of religion, so this pushed an old button.

As soon as people brought out the tambourines and started singing, my cynical American mind took over; I started wondering what I was being asked to sing. I didn't know what the words meant - was I praising the Devil?

I finally wrote a letter to our teacher, Philip about my experience so far. I let him know that this course was THE most BORING thing I’d ever done in the Art of Living and I wanted to understand the point of all the silence.

Philip, (who eventually became a life-long friend) read my letter aloud to the class. At the end of it, he laughed and said, it was just my own resistance.

I felt my Italian/Irish temper starting to rise with his response. Boredom was good? The fact I'd paid money to sit in silence and was unhappy with the experience was good? What about the singing?

A cloud came over my face. Philip noticed, and thankfully, he explained a little more. He said that the boredom signified I was evolving, and to just be with that boredom. The resistance I was experiencing, was my own resistance to being with myself. The restlessness I felt, was the restlessness within myself. Normally we're just too busy to notice what is actually happening within ourselves, and rather than feel it - we distract it.

He went on to explain that when we sit and observe what is happening, without judging, the impressions of the past dissolve. He also taught us that Bhajans are songs in the Sanskrit language, which is the oldest language we know of. These are songs of praise to the Divine, to God, our higher power (however you want to term the unseen power that moves us.)

The beauty of Sanskrit is that every word is scientifically designed to expand consciousness. Someone translated, one of the Bhajans for me, and I was absolutely moved by its poetry and how skillfully the composer was able to express their devotion to God.

Philip suggested I sing whatever I wanted, and to observe whatever emotions came up whenever my buttons were pushed. I was just to observe what was happening within me, to watch the physical sensations, as though I was watching a movie.

It was the last night of the course, and I was starting to trust Philip who came across quite gentle, authentic and sincere. Since there was no hope of being able to pronounce any Sanksrit that night,I shrugged my shoulders and followed his instructions. I listened to the music and closed my eyes, allowing it to wash over me. Eventually my toe started tapping to the rhythm and a smile began to slowly emerge.

The next day we sat for more meditations, one after another for hours. Today, this is referred to as an "intense meditation course" in the Art of Living Foundation but when I started, it was the norm.

After a few hours, Philip asked if we wanted another meditation, or a break. My hand immediacy shot up as I thought "BREAK! BREAK!" I was an outdoor person which is why I moved to Colorado from Texas; I was desperate for mountain air instead of sitting inside for another hour.

That’s when the course's stereotypical California, long-legged, blonde devotee (who never wore shoes) jumped up and down enthusiastically for, one…more….meditation.

I “silently” looked around for the tambourine she banged every night, imagining hitting her over the head with it; then I remembered I was on a path of non-violence.

Sensing my frustration, Jane flashed her non-stop, ear to ear smile, (which I was starting to find annoying) and said, “hang in there, it gets better. You'll love it when the bliss shows up."

Sneering at Jane yet at the time, feeling her sincerity, I closed my eyes for one…more…silent…meditation. But there was no silence in my head. I was thinking about my backache, what I would eat when I got out of here, the coolness of the glass door I was leaning against, starting my car and taking off, along with Philip’s instruction to look at my own resistance.

That's when it happened. I don't know how, it just happened.

Meditation started taking over; all my resistance was just slipping away. It was the same feeling as holding your fist super tight, and then just letting your hand open up. This was the letting go that Philip had told me about.

I don’t remember what happened next, but I will never forget the feeling of free-floating bliss - it was the ultimate freedom.

I didn't want to open my eyes when Gurudev's melodic voice began singing an ancient chant, indicating the meditation was over.

I realized that THIS was what these old time meditators were talking about! This was fantastic! I was floating, freely, blissfully, in my own Self.

The restlessness and agitation within myself was completely gone. I just felt...peace. I was so happy, so free- I wanted it to last forever.

When the course was over, someone shared information about another Silence course coming up. I registered for it, on the spot. Before I left to return to Denver, I made plans to drive with someone else to the next Silence Course. I didn't trust myself. I knew I’d run away from being with my own emotions and thoughts, if I had my own car, and then I'd miss the bliss.

Driving home, I reflected on how I'd become totally caught up in the material world of life, with all its distractions. I was so rajasic (an ayurvedic term that means our energy is not settled) that it was a struggle just to sit still for an hour at a time, with my own Self. I had a newfound respect for the breathing techniques I'd learned in the Art of Living. The breath work really helped me to settle down and realize the peace and bliss deep within myself.

Just a glimpse of the bliss Gurudev spoke about, and I was more committed than ever before to find out how to have it as a way of life, in the same way that he exuded peace and bliss in his very being.

I didn't fully understand what I'd experienced, but one thing I did know - it was something worth delving deeper into.

Art of Living Part 1 course: Discover Gurudev Sri Sri Ravi Shankar’s ancient secret to modern well-being.

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