03-06-05 Meditation Punx

The room was an eclectic mix of people. To my right was a Biodiversity major from Humboldt State. Across the room, a flamboyant homosexual man with short cropped hair and tight jeans sat cross-legged in his chair speaking loudly to his neighbor, an overweight middle aged man who looked like a midwest football fan. An old hippie with long gray hair and a tie dyed t-shirt was on my left, next to two Asian teenage girls. There were young and old, Christian, pagan, Buddhist, and atheists. It was a strange aura of congregation.

Though I realize that this is lousy journalism, I cannot disclose the time, place, or invitees of this this "mediation workshop". I cannot even say how it is that I came to be there. I know that this deprives the reader of a just understanding of the experience, but that's how it has to be. Suffice to say that my brother and I were there, among the wildly mixed crowd, and that outside it was raining heavily.

The leader of the workshop, a man named Steve who I later had lunch with, introduced himself with a smiling hospitality and asked if we could go around the circle and do a "check in". He was interested in what we all did to practice meditation in our lives.

The sharing began. At one extreme, a girl in the room said that she did two hour long mediation sessions every day. At the other extreme were those of us (I include myself here) who knew no regular practice of mediation, and had only come out of interest to learn. Many of the participants had been trained in Transcendental Mediation ("TM", as they called it). Several women spoke of being active at community "Meditation Centers", and having been on weekend ling or five day "silent retreats".

At the idea of a silent retreat, my brother and I mumbled to each other. ("We should do that." "Dude, you should send your wife.")

One man even mentioned "I've done Est.". My ears prickled at the reference to the Werner Earnhart large group awareness training seminars that were popular with the high powered business seminar crowd in San Francisco in the early 1980s, and made Earnhard a fortune before the Scientologists ran him out of the country with a fabricated 60-minutes exposé piece. I had been exposed to the "technology" of Est through Landmark Education, Inc. in Newport Beach, an organization with a history of legal action over journalists and scholars who have described them using the word "cult". A former employer of mine had spent so much time at their Newport Beach center taking expensive seminars and learning to create possibilities that he had to lay me off for lack of attention to his business.

Many of the participants were Christian, or non-denominational practitioners of spirituality with a western base. Some utilized prayer books, daily reflections, or the like, similar to "Chicken Soup for the Soul".

A common complaint was the inability to shut down thought for meditation. One girl expressed "I just don't get the whole 'gentle passing of thoughts' thing. My thoughts aren't gentle. They won't be ignored, and they never stop."

Another lady gave some advice that she had learned. "I think that it is mean to try to shut down your thoughts. The mind is a thinking device, and to tell it to stop is really mean and hard to do. I just recognize the side line thoughts as what they are. 'Oh'. I say. 'There is a thought.' Then I return to the focus of the meditation. They keep coming, but as long as I keep returning to the focus, then I hold the meditation. I can't be angry with my mind for producing thoughts. That is it's nature."

It made sense to me, in concept.

When my turn came up, I said. "Well. I don't really meditate regularly. I pray sometimes. Sometimes I don't. But, I do value quiet. I do enjoy silence, and can find a sort of peaceful stillness sometimes. So, I guess the closest I come to mediation is the quiet time between wave sets when I go surfing in the morning before work."

The leader's head peaked at the mention of the spot that he and I obviously shared in common.

When the group check-in was done, Steve told his story of spiritual growth. It was far from any straight line path through any particular organized religion. He readily mixed Christianity, to which he still claimed a belonging, with eastern practice. He told us a story of an extended walking meditation he had done in Europe. For the lesson, Steve talked about a book called "Dharma Punx", by a man named Noah Levine. Levine's story is one of downward spiral followed by spiritual enlightenment. His story moves from punk rock, drugs, gangs, and prison to teaching the Dharma to the urban community.

At the end of the workshop, Steve led a guided breathing mediation from the book, "Dharma Punx".

After the seminar, it was lunch time. My brother, his friend and I joined Steve and another group in a walk to a local Thai food take out shop, where I got to talk to Steve a little more. He was a very laid back individual. Our discussions turned to surfing, family, and some light discussions of progressive politics. (In mixed company, I naturally elicit these comments merely by mentioning that I am from orange County) He was a watercolor artist, with an interesting portfolio of watercolor paintings of industrial society. If you can imagine, Steve does water colors of cars, shipping trucks, and the oil refineries on the Los Angeles harbor. I left with his email address and told him we'd get together when the surf got a little better.