If there ever was a “Lazy Saturday Snow Day,” this was it, hence the late post. I did not wake up and move right to sit. I looked at the clock and went back to bed for three more hours. I woke up and watched TV and made this (at which point I did opt for a short Drinking Tea Juice Meditation), then wrapped myself in blankets on the couch, pet my cats, and sipped away. I moved from there onto coffee (too much of it), watched considerably more TV, did some lazy yoga with my boyfriend, vacuumed, wandered outside in the snow (or lack thereof…thanks, Nemo), explored the nearby provisions market, and then came home to make this for dinner.
While I certainly don’t regret a second of this slow-moving day, I did have to keep reminding myself that there was sitting to be done. It wasn’t that I was trying to avoid it; it just wasn’t hovering at the top of my To-Do List. Plus, I was debating on which practice I would choose for the day, and the idea of sitting with potentially unpleasant physical sensations wasn’t exactly enticing. I finally sat down with Sharon’s book and decided on the Body Scan Meditation.
I set my soup to simmer and locked myself in the bedroom, away from cats that were sure to climb all over me. I thought, “Isn’t this just savasana?” I quickly learned that was not at all the case. It’s a very different thing to move through the body and sit with existing sensations, but not do anything about them. I had to remind myself on several occasions of this, as it was so easy for me to slip into “breathe and release” mode. It was also a different scanning pattern than what I’m used to in savasana, so I had to think of that, and then I had to let go of the sounds of the snow plows outside, the simmering pot on the stove (“Why is it making such a racket? Did I leave the burner on too high? Oh god, what if it boils over?”), and the cats banging on the door, wanting to come in.
Surprisingly, the exterior distractions were somewhat easily mitigated (the toughest was forgetting about that damn pot), and I was slightly alarmed to find very little physical pain on which to focus. I guess somewhere along the way I interpreted that there would definitely be pain, no matter what I did. But there were two sensations that persisted throughout my practice:
1. This feeling of “body buzz.” It was as if I could just feel everything humming along, tingling, working according to plan. Or maybe it was just the extra shot of espresso from this afternoon. I could feel my heart beating in my chest and the energy radiating outward to my limbs. Dare I say it, but it was as if I had a million bees just coating my body, emitting their frantic call. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…
2. My eyes burned. The pungency of the onions I had just sautéed still lingered in the air, and at this moment happened to be strongest in the bedroom. I suppose this may be a type of pain, although in my mind, not conventional. It was interesting to sit with this stinging sensation for a bit, but what was more interesting was when my eyes started to tear. At first just moist, but then they pooled enough to start running. The sensation of one tear trickling down the left side of my face was extraordinary. I followed it, watched it gain momentum and then slow, leaving a cool trail in its path. It was so bizarre to not just swat it away at once, and yet so refreshing at the same time. I don’t know if I’ve ever viewed tears that way before.
There was one other sensation from my sitting that sticks in my mind. Around the 5- or 10-minute mark, after I had finally settled in and had begun to explore the region of my face, I received a text message. My body was pretty still at that point; I had even gotten used to the bee buzz, but upon hearing the chime, something in me seized. And then just like that, it was gone. It was lightening bolt in shape and crossed from my left shoulder, directly over my heart, and down across my torso. I had never felt anything like it before. I had a near-immediate physical reaction to pop up and check my phone, but I was somehow able to resist the temptation. I think it was because I was so alarmed by what I had just felt in that moment. Is that what always happens when I receive a text message or when my phone rings? Had I just never felt it before? That can’t be good, right?
I was able to move forward after it happened, and encountered other experiences before I ended, but I keep thinking of that momentary seizure. Definitely not anything I’ve felt in savasana before. I eventually opened my eyes and couldn’t believe how in touch I felt with my body. It was as if I could feel everything. Each little movement just radiated through me.
I sat in my armchair and ate my soup (another Drinking Tea Eating Borscht Meditation moment), and now I’m sitting writing this post, but my phone is staying on vibrate for the rest of the evening.