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There are many types of meditation. Some work consistently, some occasionally; some work in different areas of consciousness than others, or in different ways. Concentration, focus on this or that, flow, visualization, mantra, pranayama. What all of them have in common is that, by doing them, we improve our quality of life. Regardless of the comparative efficacy of the practice, the mere fact of committing some time, perhaps as little as 20 minutes, to our inner life, is a message heard by the universe, and nature responds. Always. Reflects back to us what we are valuing. And to some degree, we feel better.
And yet there are times when one doesn't meditate, days one is too busy. There are days you may determine, for whatever reason, that it's okay to suffer, it's okay to have a less-enjoyable experience. Why would we do that?
A more useful question might be, how might we do things differently.
When I can't quite get hold of a sense of appropriate self-care, I find it sometimes helpful to envision a child. Your own, or you can borrow a niece or nephew, or a neighbor's kid. (Just as a mental model. You don't need the actual kid.) It could even be yourself. You as a six-year-old. Picture this child...
So, for whatever reason, this child is with you for the day. They're at the effect of whatever you do today. The choices you make will determine what kind of a day they have. Now, you could give them a day just to get through, a day of low-level anxiety, physical discomfort, vague dissatisfaction and even perhaps specific unhappiness; or you could give them a day of comfort, of ease, of the possibility of joy. It's in your power to give them one kind of day or the other. Which one will it be? What kind of a day do you want to give the child that lives in you?
Today I will invest 20 minutes to improve the quality of my life.
Kid, Grand St., Soho
All material copyright Jeff Kober
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