…“A hideaway; a room or other place where one can seek refuge from his everyday concerns; a haven or sanctuary.”
You know when I go to the doctor and they ask me, “So, are you under stress at all?”…and you know when I look at them like they’re bat-shit crazy…and you know when they listen to all that fills up my plate and give me the “eyebrow raise” because, in fact, it’s actually MOI who is bat-shit crazy??!!
Apparently, you should meditate all the bat-shit crazy out of your head.
Seems to be the psychological “treat-of-the-week”…the “flavour-of-the-month”…whatever.
I’ve been stressing all out because I know I should meditate, I know I’d reap the benefits if I were to meditate…and I sure as shit comprehend the energetic reunification of the inner chi if I meditate…
But let’s face it. Yoga class can only afford so much when you’re listening to the whompwhompwhomp from the bass in the adjacent spinning class and the clangswishclang of the local beefcake pressing elephants on the machine right outside the studio doors.
Then I had one of my life coaching sessions and….it hit me. Lightbulb-over-head kind of “I just heard the angels sing” sort of epiphany:
Think deeply or focus for a time for spiritual purposes or to relax.
Think deeply or carefully about (something).
contemplate – think – muse – ponder – reflect – cogitate (that sounds kinky)
Anyhooooooo….get this!!! Please pay attention:
I’m calling bullshit on your excuse of “I can’t find the time to meditate because I’m bat-shit crazy busy and can’t come up with enough minutes out of my buttcrack ATM to try to rectify the discombobulation of my chaotic inner chi.”
Because…well…ya, that’s how I thought.
Then, while babbling out goals and hopes and tools in my kit to reach meditative enlightenment with my life coach….I realized:
I have been defining “meditation” within my perceived societal measures and parameters.
What do *I* do…something for myself that brings me to solely focus on my own thought processes (and, sometimes, on nothing at all…chew on that.)…something that allows me the freedom to think on a totally different level…something that brings my heartrate down…something that regulates the rhythm of my breath…
Dude. I may not be able to personally align the outer rings of Saturn with the moons of Jupiter, but I sure as hell can SCRAPBOOK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Scrapbooking, my dear peeps…IS my meditation.
Thus, I spent an exhorbitant amount of blood (no, not really…surprising, actually) sweat and tears (that’s true) to clean up and re-organize my studio over the past week.
So much time, in fact, that I think I can bench press the beefcake at the gym.
Why so much time and effort?
IT’S MY SANCTUARY.
It’s my place to go to where there is no thought to daily activity…no thoughts other than those I permit to permeate through the fibres of my very essence.
It’s my place to go to where I don’t need to define my pain, other than what I choose to express through my projects…and only if…ONLY if…that’s where I need to place my focus.
Welcome home, dear soul…