Pillows, cushions, bolsters, blankets, blocks – at each session I construct an original artistic ensemble for my supreme sitting comfort. I mentally exhaust all the synonyms for ‘excruciating’. Everybody else is seated with poise, unmoving, spines straight with the requisite gentle curve, totally committed in their posture. Their intention supports my practice, and I remain still only because of this collective power. And our teacher tells us this secret –“You are not alone, “ her supremely reassuring lullaby croons. We are never alone in our feelings or thoughts, we can be sure that the experience of some reflects our own. Since the persistence of others depends on my example, as mine does on theirs, I try for the neutral face, if not for the insanely ambitious gentle smile.
But tomorrow, everything will change. Tomorrow, I’ll stop worrying about how it looks, and build a boat for my body to float on. I’ll anchor myself to my breath. I’ll appear eccentric, but feel divine. Physical sensations subside, and I can start observing and labeling thoughts without insistent prompts from the vocabulary of pain. There is some wisdom to manipulating external conditions, instead of merely accepting with equanimity.
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